


you're just gentle on my mind

by faranth



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AmeCan Summer Exchange, M/M, retroactively gifting this one to ashynarr too, sap--so much sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4469498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faranth/pseuds/faranth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America and Canada spend a quiet birthday together, with just the two of them, a cake, and some fireworks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're just gentle on my mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashynarr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashynarr/gifts).



> Project AmeCan is the host of this exchange, and you can find them [here.](http://project-amecan.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And if you're interested, [this is Thompson Lake, Maine.](http://www.verymaine.com/cmsAdmin/uploads/l546_11.jpg) Their website is [here.](http://www.thompsonlakemarina.com/index.php)

America feels it like a pleasant hum in the back of his mind when Canada crosses the border from Quebec into Maine in the early afternoon of July third. He can’t help the smile that blooms across his face as he settles on the deck of his cabin to watch the sunlight play over the lake.

He’d wanted a quiet birthday this year, had wanted it some place quiet where he could decompress and relax, and while he hadn’t expected that Canada would want to join him, he’s looking forward to it.

It takes Canada awhile longer to make it to the cabin on Thompson Lake, and when he finally knocks on the screen door, America is in the middle of slipping his birthday cake out of the oven. He sets it to cool on the counter. “It’s open,” he calls over his shoulder, grinning when the other nation kicks his shoes off and steps inside.

“Hey, Al. Long time no see.” Canada returns his grin, laughing when America rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, man. It’s been almost a _whole_ day! I don’t know how I managed to survive.”

Canada drops his luggage beside the door and pads into the kitchen. “It must’ve been so hard,” he agrees. He laughs again, brightly, nose crinkling. It fills America with a sudden wave of affection, and he throws an arm across his neighbor’s shoulders.

“Totally hard. The hardest.” He guides Canada over to the table and nudges him toward a seat. “You hungry or anything? Got cold cuts in the fridge if you want a sandwich.”

“Yeah, sure,” Canada says. “I’m more tired than anything else though. It took forever to finally get everyone out of my house so I could sneak away.”

They’d been in Montreal for Canada’s birthday on the first, and America had managed to fly back to Portland early yesterday morning. Canada had wanted to join him, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the others alone in his house either, so he’d had to put off his flight.

“You made it out in good time.” America shrugs and he digs through the fridge for the cheese. He’s feeling a little hungry himself, and the cake needs to cool before he can ice it, so he settles across from Canada with a plate of his own. “Did you figure out who broke that ugly-ass vase of yours?”

Canada snorts. “No. Arthur was upset though. He yelled at everyone in the room.”

“I remember,” America reminds him. “I was there. He yelled at me first.”

America was nowhere near the thing at the time; he’d been in the middle of a great conversation about lake monsters with Scotland instead and hadn’t really appreciated the interruption, especially when he couldn’t possibly have destroyed it.

“He _made_ it, Alfred. Of course he’d be upset!”

“He made it at the beginning of his weird ceramics phase. It was lumpy and lopsided, like most of his early projects. He made you a better one a few months later, anyway. Why d’you even still have it?”

“It’s the thought that counts. Besides, you still have those teacups he made for _you_ and he accidentally put two handles on some of them!”

Which, okay, that’s true—he does still have those, and a few of them do have more handles than necessary. The set had been part of an unsuccessful attempt to _get you to drink real tea, Alfred,_ and America had just rolled his eyes and taken them. But—

“I only take them out when he’s visiting! It’s not like they’re always on display.”

“Well, he was visiting, you realize. He didn’t just crash my birthday party; I _invited_ him.”

America is about to respond when Canada yawns. His face softens, and he nudges Canada’s shin with his foot. “It’s been a busy couple of days, Matt. You go take a nap, and I’ll wake you for dinner. We can eat outside, and I’ll put the ball game on. The Yanks are playing the Sox tonight.”

“Yeah, all right. I didn’t really get much sleep the past couple of days.”

“Of course you didn’t,” America laughs. “You were busy nation-wrangling and eating birthday cake!”

Speaking of cakes, it’s time to ice his with the buttercream he’d made earlier, so he watches Canada drag his bags upstairs for a moment before turning away to clear the table.

The rest of the afternoon passes quietly, and Canada comes back downstairs just as America it about to start the grill. They dig into chicken wings and potatoes and listen to the game as they talk softly about pitching and the state of the AL East—

(“The Jays can make a run for it, I think,” Canada says quietly. “But I thought Tampa would be doing better.”

“The Orioles will surprise a few people,” America replies. “And the Yankees might be dangerous if they can keep their pitchers healthy.”)

—and after dinner they sit on the porch swing and lean against each other to watch the sun set over the lake. To combat the cooling night air, America pulls on an old Senators sweatshirt he’d once swiped from Canada’s Ottawa house because it’s big and soft on the inside. At one point it’d also smelled like the fabric softener that Canada uses with all of his laundry, and America had liked that.

“I wondered where that’d gotten to,” Canada murmurs, fingering the sleeve and smiling faintly. America shrugs.

“I like it. It’s warm, and you hate sleeping with the heat on high even in the winter when it’s, like, snowing out, so I definitely can’t be blamed for borrowing it.”

Canada laughs, but he doesn’t disagree. It’s true that he prefers to sleep in the cold; he’d rather add layers to keep warm. America, on the other hand, revels in sticky Louisiana summers where the air is thick with heat. No, where America isn’t quite built for frozen arctic winters—not that _Ottawa_ is at all arctic—Canada isn’t built for southern summers.

He likes the summers that Maine has, though, pleasant with just a hint of chill in the air and the promise of ice and snow in the coming months.

“I think you had the right idea with spending your birthday here,” he says eventually. He drops his head to America’s shoulder and gazes up at the stars in the sky. In the distance, he can hear the loons calling. “Maybe I’ll do the same next year. We could go to Nova Scotia.”

“Yeah,” America murmurs. “That’d be nice.”

He feels comfortably full, and Canada is a warm weight against his side, so it doesn’t take long before they’re dozing against each other. He doesn’t know how much later it is, but he startles awake at sound of something crackling in the air.

He looks around, confused, and then can’t help but laugh when he sees the firecrackers being shot into the air from one of the houses across the lake. The water flashes red and green and white.

It must be after midnight, officially July Fourth.

“Hey,” Canada breathes, nudging his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Alfred.”

America just grins.

* * *

 

The Fourth of July dawns bright and warm, and Canada makes him pancakes and bacon while they watch the recitation of the Declaration of Independence on television. America can’t help but blink tears from his eyes when his people say, _we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor,_ but if Canada notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“What are the plans for today?” the northern nation asks instead as he pours the maple _and_ the blueberry syrups over his breakfast. “Anything in particular?”

America shrugs. “Not really. We don’t even have to leave the cabin to see the fireworks, because they shoot them off over the lake. We’ll see ‘em perfectly from here. I want to go for a swim though.”

“Obviously,” Canada grins. “You’ve got the canoe here, right? Let’s fish later, too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” America laughs. “A good plan.”

And so America’s birthday passes much the same as the day before did—quiet and easy, with the sun warm on their backs. It’s the nicest birthday America has had in awhile, and they spend a lot of time laughing together. He can’t stop smiling.

Luckily, neither can Canada, who throws an arm around him and pulls him in for an affectionate hug. “It’s a good idea you had,” he says, echoing their earlier conversation.

America’s smile widens in agreement, letting his neighbor see all the bright fondness he feels for him right there on his face. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he replies as he leans in and brushes his nose against Canada’s neck. “I’m really glad.”

When night finally falls, America ushers Canada back out onto the deck, and then follows behind with the cake in his hands. He’d decorated it with red, white and blue candles and sprinkles shaped like stars, and he sets it down carefully between them on the table.

“Happy birthday to me,” he says, smiling. The candlelight dances across Canada’s face, and America can see the answering grin there.

“Make a wish, Alfred,” he says.

“Nah, man,” he replies, bending over to blow the candles out. “I’ve already got everything I want right here.”

Canada reaches out to take America’s hand, squeezing gently, and above them, the fireworks light the sky.


End file.
